


A visit

by Zavadovici



Category: God's Own Country, God's Own Country (2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 23:53:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14366439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zavadovici/pseuds/Zavadovici





	A visit

The phone rang one morning when John and Gheorghe were out in the fields. Lambing had come around again and it was all hands to the pumps. Deirdre let it ring six times before answering, in case it was telesales. She was suspicious of the phone at the best of times. ‘Nobbut bad news’ she used to say.  
‘Mrs Saxby?’ The voice asked. ’My names Grayling, North West Gas.’’  
‘We’re not on the gas’, Deirdre replied shortly, ’So we don’t owe anything’.  
‘No, no, it’s not about gas bills - it’s a different matter. I wonder if I could come up and meet you, tomorrow if it’s convenient.’  
Deirdre overcame her natural reluctance to welcome strangers. The way he said ‘if it’s convenient’ told her he had good manners. This was very important to her. She agreed 2pm the next day and hung up. What with getting dinner on and Martin to bed, it slipped her mind to mention it to the boys until after supper.  
‘What did he want, like?’ asked John.  
‘How should I know? I never asked him.’ said Deirdre.  
‘Why didn’t yer?’  
‘I didn’t want to pry’…  
John rolled his eyes. Gheorghe grinned and poked John in the ribs under the table.

2pm next day and Mr Grayling arrived in a Landrover. A large man with a round red face, he wore a grey work suit, North West Gas tie, and wellingtons. He came in, smiled, extracted himself from the wellies huffing and puffing. He then shook hands with everyone, including Martin, who he addressed first, and very respectfully. He met Deirdre’s look of sour approval with a level gaze. They sat down.  
‘I’ll not beat about the bush. NWG needs to run a mains gas pipeline up the valley from Keighley to Skipton. It’s my job to visit all the farms along the route, obtain their approval and handle the wayleaves. Your farm is one of the main ones, as the route runs along your low fields parallel to the wall on the road and it’s nearly a mile long. It’ll be dug in ten feet deep and once it’s in, you’ll never know it’s there. I need your approval so we can start the paperwork.’

The Saxbys, including Gheorghe, exchanged glances and shrugged.  
‘Yeah whatever,’ said John. ‘But if you knock down any more of that wall you’ll have to patch it up – and make sure our sheep don’t get on’t road’..  
Grayling smiled. ‘We’re covered for that kind of thing I assure you. Can I then take it you’re broadly in agreement that we can set these works in motion?’  
They all nodded. ‘Yeah its OK with us’ said John.  
‘Now, about compensation..’ started Grayling, before John interrupted;  
‘No, no, no – we can’t be paying compensation; that roadside wall’s been falling down for years – it’s the councils job and they’ve done bugger all about it’..  
Grayling held up both hands. ’You misunderstand Mr Saxby. I’m referring to the compensation that NWG pays to you, as it’s your land we’re digging under. The rate of compensation is fixed by the government’.  
The Saxbys stared at him. ‘Well ‘ow much will it be, like?’ asked John.  
Mr Grayling looked down at his notes. ‘According to my calculations, based on the linear meterage of the pipe, it’ll be approximately fifty three thousand pounds.’  
They all stared at him open mouthed, barely able to grasp the enormity of the sum.  
‘Fifty three grand? To sit on a pipeline we’ll never see? It’s it’s’… gasped John.  
Deirdre felt herself going red with excitement ‘A new fridge’.. she mused… ‘a new mattress even…’  
‘A new tractor!’ blurted John excitedly ‘Well a new-old one, any road.. It’s a bloody bonanza!’  
Martin was grinning too, and Gheorghe, looking round at his new family, felt his heart swell to see them promised such a gift, dropping out of the blue on a clear fine day… John looked like a little boy opening presents at Christmas and Gheorghe felt a kick of love for him.  
‘Now just steady on.’ said Deirdre sternly ‘there’ll be no splashing out. We have to think about investing that money. Fifty three thousand is a fortune but we’re not frittering it away. There’ll soon be nothing left.’

It was Graylings turn to stare. ‘I’m sorry – I should have made myself clear. The payments are fifty three thousand pounds a year… every year… for at least the next thirty years. And there’s a single upfront payment of a hundred and forty thousand pounds to cover the inconvenience of the works.’  
There was a flabbergasted silence in the tiny living room, broken only after a good ten seconds as Deirdre slumped heavily onto a kitchen chair. John stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape. Gheorghe felt dizzy and steadied himself on Johns shoulder. Martin stared down at the table, a smile slowly spreading across his face. Back in the 1970’s, during a period of dire financial straits, his dad had been on the point of selling those low fields to the farmer next door. Martin, aged only 17, had almost come to blows with him over it, clenched fists, standing his ground. ‘We’ll never sell one square fucking inch of this farm as long as I have owt to do with it’, he had bellowed, incandescent with fury. And he had won the day. Yet another bridging loan from the reluctant bastards at the bank, short rations for two years, a tiny legacy from a distant maiden aunt, and they’d managed to cling on. And today he was vindicated. Their ‘shite-hole’ as Johnny used to call it, had just turned into a gold mine.

‘Righto, I’ll be in touch, and leave you good people to talk it over’, smiled Mr Grayling. And back in his Landrover heading up the Saxbys pot-holed drive, past the rusty machinery and dilapidated buildings, he cursed himself for a soppy daft apeth as the tears coursed down his ruddy cheeks. And then he grinned from ear to ear when he recalled the looks of incredulity and then hope on the faces of these people who’d had such a hard life of graft and toil. He knew of the Saxbys and folk like them, and reflected on how lucky he was to be the bearer of such good news.  
Later that night, as John rolled on top of Gheorghe to switch off the bedside lamp, he couldn’t resist whispering ‘Glad yer fuckin’ came back now aren’t yer!?’  
‘’Why did I know that was coming?’ Gheorghe groaned, and then whispered in John’s ear ‘You’re going to become impossible.’  
‘Yeah I know… what yer gonna do ‘bout it?’ murmered John, licking Gheorghe’s ear.  
‘Careful, John Saxby. I think more control will be needed to keep Johnny-boy in check’.  
‘Can’t fuckin’ wait!’ John murmured and held Gheorghe a little closer. He fell asleep dreaming not of yachts and fast cars, but of walking in the Romanian mountains with the love of his life.


End file.
